


Burned in Flame

by Restitutor_Orbis



Series: A Ballad of Fire [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: But Actual Strings Attached, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, No Strings Attached, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Porn with Feelings, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-23 20:39:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18709570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Restitutor_Orbis/pseuds/Restitutor_Orbis
Summary: The Inquisitor sings a ballad composed by Leliana.





	Burned in Flame

**Author's Note:**

> This little gem - I consider it a gem - was born because I listened to "Beautiful Crime" by Tamer last night. Plus, I really wanted to write smut, and I rarely do so, anyway. I hope I wrote it well. This is like my second smut fanfic that I ever wrote, so I don't really except much. I did try my best.

_Burned in Flame_

By: Restitutor_Orbis

Based on: Dragon Age: Inquisition and  _Beautiful Crime_ by Tamer

* * *

 

“ _Leliana._ ”

The word came out as a soft cry, embedded with unconcealed desire and need. Leliana’s lips latched onto the pale skin that glimmered silver under the moonlight that slanted through the windows. Her finger curled and another gasp filled her ears, high and pitchy, nearly twining into a whine.

Leliana had been too inpatient with the Inquisitor’s elaborate, constraining uniform, opening and unrevealing enough of it to reveal the elegant column of Trevelyan’s neck and the tantalizing hints of pale breasts. Her pants were not even given the same treatment. Leliana had wretched away her leather gloved and threw into absentmindedly somewhere in the chambers. She would find it later, no doubt. But for now, a stronger urge to make the Inquisitor sing filled her with purpose. She had merely slipped her ungloved hand into Trevelyan’s breeches with a neediness that she once nearly forgotten.

Maker, she had forgotten what this felt like. To have another body pressing against her own, writhing and whimpering with pleasure. Overcome with a desire to let go of any thought or worry of an impending battle or journey. Trevelyan smelt of something sweet. Perhaps vanilla, if she could place a word on it. Even than, that seemed like a poor comparison. Nothing could compare to the flesh that flushed with warmth and shuddering cries that left Leliana own smallclothes drenched.

Leliana pinned the Inquisitor’s arms over her head, kissing a mark that she had left behind when she bit. Trevelyan’s walls pressed against Leliana’s elegant fingers, coating the digits with a slickness that left the spymaster smiling. She had almost forgotten the power that came with manipulating another’s body toward pure orgasmic bliss. The Inquisitor was easy to get noises out of. She readily supplied Leliana with notes that granted ample ballads. One day, she would have to thank her...in another way, perhaps.

Her lips peppered the pale, marked skin. Trevelyan would need to hide marks. Leliana would not deal with the comments of the Iron Bull for another instant. She knew that Trevelyan would be squeaky in the morning, mumbling and cursing Leliana for decorating her with markings that could very well be considered art. The Inquisitor had no right to complain, in her opinion. Some nights, Leliana found herself painted with markings that scattered from her collarbone to the insides of her thighs. She was never more grateful for her concealing armor than after one of those nights.

She smiled against the burning skin, feeling her wild pulse. Leliana’s eyes fluttered close. The hand that pinned the Inquisitor's hands above her hand gently drifted down, fingers trailing light muscles that quivered when she touched. Leliana’s lips sweeped up to press a lingering kiss against the line of her curved jaw. Her tongue traced it, before kissing the place where her eat met her jaw. “You’re so beautiful, _ma amour_ ,” Leliana purred in her ear. Her fingered curled softly, and another gasped filled her ears. Her thumb grazed ever so lightly over her clit. Her walls trembled around Leliana’s fingers, and she felt her thighs quiver against Leliana’s knuckles.

Trevelyan’s cheeks were red with flush. Her eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed together. Leliana, during the second session, found that the Inquisitor enjoyed soft words of praise. It had came as a surprise to her in truth. She had simply whispered a word of joy, praising her on her improvements. The failure to hide the darkening of her green-golden eyes and tugging of her bottom lip gave Leliana with a unasked answer. The Inquisitor was not the first person who had an inclination toward desiring praise during moments of passion that Leliana had bedded. And yet, the woman had turned shy, quiet and near timid when after the session had been over. The Chosen of Andraste received praise from nobles and commoners alike. The inherent desire for it seemed nearly unnecessary in Leliana’s eyes. Than it came to the stark and startling realization that the Inquisitor was the one who received the countless praise the world, not the daughter of House Trevelyan. The Inquisitor was a charming woman, filled with charisma and brilliance that even at times left Leliana in awe. But all that seemed shedded away when the Inquisitor disrobed and allowed the mantle of power to shift off her shoulders. Leliana could not decided if it was inadequacy that plagued her or something else that Leliana could not place a word on, but there was something. A change that formed when Leliana’s hands combed through her soft terresases when Trevelyan rested between her legs. An eagerness that seemed to contrast the relent vigorous that overwhelmed and captivated others. Another apparent difference between the leader and the woman.

She rolled her pad of her thumb against the erect nub. Another whimper, another gasp, another moan. Even with the open balcony doors that fluttered in cool winds, Leliana could feel her cheeks flushing with warmth. She pulled away from her skin, still feeling the pulse, the rumbling of pleasurable notes, the heat that grew steadily warmer with every passing minute against her lips. Her tongue peaked out to run across her top lip, than her teeth took her bottom lip between one another.

The Inquisitor was beautiful, a thought that never truly crossed Leliana’s mind except during one of these sessions. Her long, curled black hair tumbled outward like a sea of curling darkness. The silvery light of the moan left her glimmering with a light sheen. If Leliana had been a painter, this sight would have been the one she would have claimed for her own. The Inquisitor's breeches bundled down to her ankles, the teasing sight of Trevelyan’s rising chest left a desire to wash over Leliana. She curled her fingers again, pressing her thumb against her clit at the exact moment.

Trevelyan’s back arched, a cry shuddering pass her lips. Leliana could not help the shadow of a smile to rise on her own. _Three,_ she thought. Usually it would be only one or two before Trevelyan graced her with a small treatment. It was never three. Trevelyan thought it would be greed. That she enjoyed the bliss of release will Leliana merely gave. Leliana did not mind. Leliana had her own hands, and if the Inquisitor had the energy to continue, she would simply rest herself upon the Inquisitor’s pretty face. Yet, tonight, for some unknown reason, Leliana did not desire a release of her own.

The Inquisitor was more oft than not intangible during these sessions. It was an unspoken agreement that for the betterment of both parties that words would mostly never be shared, unless it came down to praise. The Inquisitor was a fierce supporter and refused to back down at the prospect of being denied the right to lavish praise on her. Of course, there were moments of lapse that could be forgiven—such as the occasional “shit” and “fuck”—but Leliana never even heard the Inquisitor mutter the Maker’s name, less Leliana’s. It was a pitchy one too, even bordering upon shrill, but it did something to Leliana. It awoken something. _Maker, preserve me_.   

Leliana’s thrusts began to slow, merely allowing the Inquisitor to ride off her height of pleasure. The pace was slow, gentle. At times, Leliana could be rough, only at the request of the Inquisitor, of course, but she could never force herself to be rough after an orgasm. There was something beautiful when watching a lover reach a level of uncompared peace and joy, writhing with pleasure that she gifted, that made Leliana’s stomach fill with warmth. And when it came to the Inquisitor, Leliana was extra careful after the fact. Beneath the fancy embroidery and silken fabric of the Inquisitor’s garment, scars dotted her body like fine paint strokes. At the beginning, Leliana almost entirely ignored it, instead focusing on teasing and releasing both pent of energies. There was no true affection in their sessions. There should not be, at any rate. The entirety of the arrangement was focused on the pent up stress and anger that both women had built due to their duties. She as soft at times, of course, some may even say tender, but there was no love in it. That would breach upon their agreement.

But as she watched as Trevelyan came down from her unspoken, coursing pleasure, sinking into the white-sheeted mattress, Leliana felt something in her heart. An age-old song that she had long forgotten the words. When Trevelyan’s eyes opened slowly, as if she had been in a state of a sleepful bliss, her green-golden eyes were innocently thankful. The light of the moon mixed with the dancing green and golden flames of her eyes, configuring silver highlight in its wake. They were pretty eyes, brighter than most, brimming with a near-cosmic brilliance that would have left others overburden by their energy. A smile formed at the corners of her lips, small and light and teasing. Leliana pushed down an urge to capture them with her own.

Leliana slipped her fingers slowly out of her, another gasp filling the heated chamber. She raised her hand, the Inquisitor’s essence glistening with a silvey glow from the moan. She lapped them individually. It would be a waste to wipe away such a delicacy. A blushed tinged at the Inquisitor’s cheeks, her chest heaving. Leliana did not know if it was from the scene she had just performed or if she was still trying to catch her breath.

For a few moments, they simply rested there, blue-gray eyes meeting green-golden. The night was a silent one, with only a soft wailing of the wind being the accompany of a dying, chirping fire. On nights like these, Leliana would slip back into her bedchambers after this session. But her legs refused to move, instead continued to straddled the Inquisitor's.

Leliana’s eyes danced to Trevelyan’s neck. Numerous marks were painted on the pale skin. Most would be faded by the time the sun rose. Leliana preferred way of marking her lovers was through light, teasing, and small nibbles. Unlike the Inquisitor’s, whose marks were both plentiful and lasted hours, even sometimes days, longer. Such was the price of overburdence. Trevelyan was an eager lover, seeking to leave an impression on Leliana that she did not have to. The woman was known for her passionate and talkative nature, with an eloquence and brevity often rare in a person.Her passionate oratory ability soon found another purpose in the darkest of nights. Rare were the lovers that made Leliana’s pleasure a purpose and duty for them. Most were focused on receiving rather than giving. Yet, once again, the Inquisitor had been unparalleled with generosity when it came to Leliana. She practically worshiped Leliana when it was her turn during these sessions. Every scar that laced and marred Leliana’s body were given a soft whisper of affection and tender kiss. Her body was carrassed, never felt. Her neck painted, not attacked. Sweet and bundling affection could be the only way to describe the Inquisitor during intercourse.

Leliana was torn from her thoughts when she felt hands, both warm and cold, rest and cup her hips. The circling of the Trevelyan’s thumbs left the touched skin tingling. “Would you like to continue?” The Inquisitor’s smile met her eyes, sweetening and irresistibly charming. That was another thing the Inquisitor so enjoyed to do in the privacy of her chambers. She always asked to continue, never forced Leliana into some lying pursuit of pleasure. If Leliana was too tired or had no interest that night, the Inquisitor would only smile, and—often very slowly—rise from her bed to held find Leliana’s discarded armor and clothing.

Leliana smiled, and placed her hands on the Inquisitor’s. “No.” Her heart was racing, for whatever reason. She threw one leg over the Inquisitor and fell to her side.

The Inquisitor's eyes were confused. She played the game well, mastering a mask that even garnered Leliana’s own approval and respect, but when it came inner circle, she seemed to lose it in an instant. Her eyebrows were scrunched together, and her head turned to face Leliana, searching. “Is something wrong? Did I do something.”

Leliana chuckled. “No, no you haven’t.”

“Then what is it?” Her voice was stronger, commanding. The voice of the Inquisitor.

Leliana raised an eyebrow. _She seemed quite invested in this,_ a thought whispered, and she said, “You said my name.”

The Inquisitor blinked with eyes as wide as an owl’s. “I...said your name?” Her voice was still shaky, an after effect of Leliana’s game. “My apologies.”

“No taken, Inquisitor. It was a merely passing thought.” _And unbelievable arousing, truth be told._ The voice that the Inquisitor had muttered was in high and pitchy and heavily accented with her Ostwickan accent. Often, the voice was strong and smooth and enchanting, even. But her voice was none of those when she said her name in a need that overcame her sense of thought. A part of her wanted to hear it again.

Trevelyan stared at her and sighed. Her breathing had finally stabilized. “You did a number on me,” confessed Trevelyan, smiling cheekily at the Orlesian. “I’ll have to pay you back.”

“One day,” Leliana said as she lifted herself off the bed. She could practically taste the confusion of the Inquisitor. Leliana began to disrobe, shrugging off her chainmail armor, her thick breeches that starved off the cold of her rookery, and finally the heavy, purple hood that she wore as a shawl. Beneath it, she wore a tunic that fell down to her thigh that was tied by a brown belt at her waist, to keep it stable. She could still felt the wetness of her smallclothes against her, so she tugged it off and placed it onto a cloth that she had found resting on the dresser. Leliana glanced over her shoulder, a shadow of a smile forming at her lips. “You might want to change out of that.”

A red flush flared on the Inquisitor’s pale cheeks. She fumbled with her words. As Leliana predict, Trevelyan was forced into a slow rise from the bed. _Maybe next time I shouldn’t push her to far_ , she thought. Though, she knew that would never happened. Trevelyan needed this as much as Leliana did. _It had been ten years._ She frowned. _Ten years...maybe even longer._

Small scars lined the Inquisitor’s back when the Inquisitor began to shrug off her clothing, first the thick black-blue jacket and then her black breeches. Some was longer than others. One came from the back of her hip to crawl jaggedly up her back. It was the largest one, ugly and thick. _A broadsword,_ she thought, taking her bottom lip into her own. _Maybe even a greatsword_ . Leliana did not know how she got it. She never asked. The Inquisitor never asked about her own scars. It seemed like a fair deal simply not to mention them. Even when Trevelyan showered Leliana’s skin with kisses, her praise came from the present time, always softly loving her. _A foolish love,_ Leliana thought, grimly. _When day I’ll be too old and she’ll realized that she did not truly love her. One day I’ll be too old to love._

“You’re thinking, aren’t you.” The Inquisitor was staring at her, one hand on her hip. Leliana blinked. The Inquisitor threw on a loose tunic lazily. It almost bellowed out like a dress. A smile played on her lips.

Leliana could not help but return one herself. “One always should be thinking, even during relaxation.” She slipped into the bed, pulling the Orlesian blue covers up her body. 

“You’re...you’re sleeping here?” The words seemed foreign to her, and she tasted it slowly. A single eyebrow was raised at her direction.

Leliana returned on of her own. “Is that alright with you?”

“Yeah! Of course!” She waved her hand as if dismissing the thought of banishing Leliana from the bed.

For a while, neither of them did something, and Leliana could almost laugh at the awkwardness that was forming around the typically astute and charming noblewoman. “Will you not join me? The sheets are losing its warmth.”

Another blush, another mumbling apologize, and then Leliana felt a warm pressed against her front.

Trevelyan smiled lightly at the woman, her cheeks red and bright. “This is…” She froze for a moment, choosing her words. And then, she said, “strange.”

“How so?” Leliana raised an eyebrow and pressed her cheek against the exquisitely soft pillows. Josephine did not fail when it came to finding the most comfortable accommodations for Trevelyan. Leliana did not know if she should be secretly envious or amused by her friend’s commitment to the Inquisitor’s comfort.

The Inquisitor answered her question by asking one of her own. “Why are you doing this? Sleeping beside me, I mean.”

Leliana stared at her. _Why am I doing this?_ she thought. It made even less sense to her. There was a pull in her gut. Maybe she was too tired to head to her own chambers. Maybe she simply enjoyed seeing the Inquisitor flustered. Leliana thought she was close with the latter, but that did not even seem right. _Why indeed?_

“The world is full of surprises, Inquisitor,” was her answered.

Trevelyan seemed unimpressed with her answer, but she said nothing besides, “You better not hog all the sheets.”

Leliana laughed, and Maker, it had been so long since she had done that. A light, airy feeling bubbled at her chest. It was nice. “Alas, I’m afraid I am a hogger, if my previous lovers are to be believed.” Leliana’s lips curled upward. “But I believe that they offered it to me while rest, it is the only plausible answer.”  

The Inquisitor’s lips found hers, and Leliana had to bit back a squeak at the sudden attack. “Inquisitor,” she mumbled.

Leliana founded herself pinned to the bed, Trevelyan’s lips grazing over her own. She even began to gently tug on Leliana’s bottom lip with her teeth. “Maker, you’re adorable.” She pulled back, her cheeks flaring, her eyes once more darken. “I need to show you.” Her lips, soft and cherry pink found Leliana’s neck. Burning lips that pressed kisses against the column of her throat that conjured a gasp from Leliana. “I needed to hear you say my name.” She felt the long and elegant fingers of Trevelyan press against her stomach, rolling down and smoothing her tunic. Her stomach quivered at the warm touch that mixed with the cold. Trevelyan’s lips left her neck, marks red and more visible than Leliana’s clear as day. She had thought that she might have left the night unscathed, but it seemed the Inquisitor had other ideas.  

Trevelyan laced a weaving of kisses down her body, pressing her lips against the cloth of her fabric. Leliana could feel phantom lips at the wake of her kisses and her breath hitched. A warmth formed at her naval and another warmth rushed to her cheeks. The Inquisitor slipped between her lips, pressing gentle hands against the inner side of her thighs, pushing them open. She then kissed them as well. “I want to hear you sing,” she mumbled against the warmth of her thigh.

Then she turned her head, smiled, and said, “I want you to say ‘Alexandra’.” Her green-golden eyes, filled with those amused flames, danced with the light of the moon, before falling under the shadow of Leliana’s tunic.

And Leliana sang well into the night.


End file.
